


Lost Cause

by CollectiveMinds



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bullying, Minor Character Death, Panic Attacks, Self Harm, offensive language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-13 22:18:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10523040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CollectiveMinds/pseuds/CollectiveMinds
Summary: Peter had always had depression, but now with the death of his only remaining family member, he begins to fall into a pit of pain and suffering. Will Peter meet his end or will someone come and be his saving grace? Trigger Warning: Depression, Self harm and harsh langue.Originally Posted on Fanfiction.net - Still a Work In Progress





	1. Breaking Point

* * *

**Breaking Point**

* * *

 

You don't notice it at first. The pain. Everyday life moves by so fast that you get lost in the haze. It's not till you're alone, truly alone, do you feel the tears run down your face as you pray that the sun just won't come up. That there won't be another day. Wishing to hide from the world. But you can't. The sun will still rise and you'll be forced to live despite the fact you're dying on the inside.

Everyone has their breaking point. A point where they could no longer deal with anything life throws at them. And that seemed to be his day. Everyone, he had ever loved or at least remotely cared about, were gone. He had no one. In the rational part of his mind he understood that there was nothing he could do, but, in the grand scheme of things, all he could do was blame himself. After all, he could have done more. He should have done more.

Tears welled in his eyes as he stared down at the razor in his hand. It wasn't anything particularly special. He had gotten the blade from a handheld pencil sharpener he simply found on the ground. But the weight it carried was what was important. With shaky fingers, he took the razor out of his left hand and felt the oddly cold metal touch his wrist.

This wasn't the first time, but it always felt like it. Taking a breath, he slid the thin blade across the vein in his arm. He could feel the pain that came with spitting his skin open. Staring at his first cut, he thought about everyone he'd lost, or in his mind, killed.

Peter Parker was your normal, slightly above-average teenage boy. He enjoyed science, photography, skateboarding, and crime fighting. You know, normal teenage stuff. Known only to his short-term girlfriend, Gwen Stacy, Peter was more than Peter Parker. He was Spiderman, the web-slinger, red and blue adorned, friendly neighborhood vigilantly. And despite all the good he had done, the media hated him, the cops wanted him arrested, and everyone he knew, good or bad, had died because of him.

As he placed another cut on his wrist, he began to think of everyone he'd failed. His parents, Uncle Ben, Norman and Harry Osborn, Doctor Connor, Doc Oct, Captain Stacy, Gwen... Aunt May.

Everyone he cared about, were dead. Everyone he tried to protect died, and it his fault.

After X amount of cuts later, the teen stared at the blood that had slowly bubbled up from the cuts and pooled on his wrist. Peter's eyes lost focus as his gaze became mesmerized by the crimson liquid. He knew was illogical it was. It wasn't like this would bring everyone back. But it helped. It gave him some control in a fucked up world where nothing he did matter.

It was in that moment he realized he felt nothing. He felt empty. The brunette acknowledges that his wrist should hurt or sting, after all, he was bleeding. But he really just felt numb. Suddenly feeling sick to his stomach, he ignored the blood running down his arm and leaned over the toilet next to him. Emptying the contents of his stomach into the porcelain bowl, he slumped over, wiped his mouth and came to his senses. With a flush of the toilet, he cleaned his wrist with cold water from the sink and wrapped it in some gauze he'd gotten from a nearby CVS. Once all traces of blood had disappeared, he tucked the razor in his pocket and simply sat down on the ground of the bathroom and leaned against the door.

For once, he decided to let himself reflect on everything that had happened. Peter let out a tiny breath of air, like a sour laugh. Funny thinking back on it. A normal day, like any other. Dressed in his costume, swing from building to building looking for petty crime before having to get back for dinner. His standard patrol, that is until he caught word of a robbery in process at a local bank.

Of course, he immediately changed course and rushed over. Dodging the police's bullets which had gotten directed at him, he swung into the building and disarmed the robber. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, that is until he heard a gunshot followed by a scream. Turning around, he saw another man shooting the hostages, and the person who had screamed was Aunt May.

He hadn't even noticed her before now. All he could think was why was she here? Last time she texted him was when she wanted to know when he'd be back so she could make dinner. Nothing there had mentioned her going to the bank. The second his eyes landed on her he quickly webbed the guys and left. Mourning silently, he returned home for the night, not bothering to stop when he heard some girl scream for help.

Now here he sat, in some orphanage that the Child Protective Service people shoved him in. Claiming that is was for the best. God, Peter wished this was a nightmare. It had to be a nightmare. He, a 15-year-old freshman at Midtown High, had just lost every person he cares about in less than two years. Everything went by so fast. Too fast.

With all that has happened his anxiety skyrocketed and his nightly activities got cut down, which in turn made his anxiety worse. Rubbing the wrist that contained the newest cuts, he winced at the Peter, cutting wasn't anything new, just something he hadn't done in a while. Despite his efforts to stop, he always found his way back to the razor. He wasn't sure if this was just his way of punishing himself for failing or if it just brought him comfort, but in the end, it helped. Slowly standing up, he quietly left the bathroom and walked into the room, he shared with 3 other kids. Turning to 'his' bed, he closed his eyes and wish for sleep that would never come. Tomorrow was another day, and little did he know it would change his life.

* * *

**End of Chapter One**

* * *

 


	2. Dark Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new day, a new start, right? But, it doesn't mean today is going to be any better.
> 
> Warning: Offensive Language, Bullying, and in general... Angst.

* * *

**Dark Thoughts**

* * *

 

Eventually, Peter decided that sleep just wasn't going to come, no matter how much he yearned for darkness to sweep over him and allow him a blissful night. Letting out a tired sigh, he stared up at the framework of the bunk above him, unable to keep his eyelids closed. It didn't take long before he came to the depressing realisation that he had yet another consecutive wakeful night and that lying here was pointless.

Slowly pulling his aching body up off the lumpy mattress and leant up against the headboard. Against his better judgement, he decided to take a glance at the clock on the wall before getting up and heading to the bathroom. Even in the darkened room, the moonlight bleeding from the window was enough for him to make out the hands of the circular disc. 4:34. 'Huh.' Peter thought slightly amused.

Before everything, the young vigilante would usually go on patrol as early as, 6:00, or once Aunt May went to bed and would then stay out till, at the latest, 4:30. So to now look at the clock and think that 4:34 was early was just one more reminder of how messed up his life is…was.

Gradually, the brunette pulled himself off the cramped bed and leant back to stretch. He could hear cracks and pops as he tried to loosen his sore joints. Just one more reason to hate this place, they gave the 5'8 teenage boy one of the smallest beds and expected him to be comfortable. 'Because that makes _so_ much sense.' Peter thought bitterly to himself.

Grabbing a set of clothes from the suitcase under 'his' bed, he carefully headed back to the bathroom, where he had previously been not more than 3 hours prior. Upon entering said room, he locked the door behind him and went to sit on the porcelain edge of the shower-bath hybrid. Slowly, he removed the gauze wrapped around his left wrist. The cuts that scattered his skin had become a bright red making them very noticeable. They didn't look infected, but they had been deep. At least they appeared to have stopped bleeding something during the night, despite the depth.

Figuring he might as well get ready for school, Peter stood up, turned on the shower and began to undress. But, before he could step into the stream of water coming from the shower, he turned his attention back to the mirror above the sink. The reflection that stared back at him seemed almost like a different person.

The person before him had unhealthy pale skin that seemed to be bloodless. Their eyes stared at him, corpse-like. But, instead of having a sunken and dead look, they simply glared at him with a glassy and clouded look, as if unfocused. They appeared dull and lifeless with dark, heavy purple-black bags underneath, which had been the result of many wakeful nights and endless stress.

It wasn't until the mirror had completely filled with steam did he snap out of his mini-trance and look away. Getting into the shower, he let the hot water and steam coax his tense muscles to relax and drifted into mindless thought.

* * *

Turning off the shower, Peter grabbed the towel off the shower curtain rod and began to dry off. After a few moments, he discarded said towel and changed into the clothes he brought with.

His pre-determined clothing selection consisted of a long-sleeved grey shirt, which had holes at the ends of the sleeves. The holes had been an intentional addition, ensuring that his cuts would remain hidden as it allows Peter to slip his thumbs through, holding the fabric in place.

He also had a pair of worn out blue jeans that stopped just above the ankle. The dirt infused fabric's age had been clearly apparent based on the rip and tears that litter the cloth. There wasn't much he could do about it. The orphanage only allowed him to bring so much and he didn't have the money to buy anything new.

Pulling on his pants, he gave one more glance at the mirror and turned to leave the bathroom once more. Reaching towards the floor, he realised he forgot to bring his backpack with him. Despite how out of place, such a thing was, Peter would always bring it with, the reason being out of privacy because the brats he shared a room with had been extremely curious and had tried to search through his items in the past, which he can't allow.

Now in a slight panic, he quickened his pace, crossed the hall and began to opened the door slowly and quietly as to keep the other asleep, in case it had just been anxiety going off and nothing was wrong. Entering the room, he looked into the darkness and let out a breath of relief. The gremlins that he called roommates were still asleep and his bag untouched.

Despite this fact, it didn't calm his nerves in the slightest. Walking over to the bed, he grabbed the item of interested, which hid under the bedside table, and unzipped it. Taking a deep breath, he looked into the bag. He felt sick. Even in the moonlit room, his costume stood out like a sore thumb. The red colour of the fabric seems to lighten up the room as if it was a light source. Swallowing his guilt, Peter quickly zipped the bag back up and slung it over his shoulder.

It was too early to go to school, but he didn't want to stay here either. Giving the area one quick look, he remembered to grab his glasses, phone and wallet which still sat on the bedside table. Leaving the room, he silently climbed down the stairs, slipped on his shoes and grabbed his skateboard, which had been propped up against the wall.

Exiting the building, he placed on his board on the ground and set course for the school. Feeling the wind hit him as he rode, he began to feel better, but with his luck, it's only at matter of time till that feeling went away.

Once the former vigilante was about a good distance from the school, he pulled out his phone. 6:03. Peter still had plenty of time to kill before he needed to be at school. Once upon a time, he would have suited up and swung around on patrol til around 7:27, that being the first warning bell to get to class. But, for the future, that was off the table. He could barely look at his suit, much less out it on.

Deciding to find a place to wait, he found a dark alleyway. Making sure no one was around, he scaled the side of his randomly chosen building and sat on the edge of the roof. With his legs dangling off the ledge, he wondered what wound happen if he happened to jump. His web shooters remained tucked away with his costume, so if he did indulge, there'd be no going back.

Lost in thought, he gazed at the ground below, watching the dots scurry off in one direction or another. Before he could make an actual decision, one he might regret, his phone went off, pulling him from his thoughts. Retrieving the electronic device from his pocket, he found the source of the noise was one of his preset alarm. 7:00. Had he truly been up here for an hour? Dreading what awaited him, he climbed down the building with ease and headed to the one place that could only be called hell.

From what Peter could tell, today was going to be another bad day, then again, when wasn't it? Arriving around 7:18, he decided to stop by his locker then head to the library, since he had roughly 15 minutes before needing to be in First Period, and even then, he might just skip, not feel as if he could sit through the class. This wouldn't be the first time he'd had done this. Back in his Spiderman days, for different reasons, hiding in the library was nothing new. He could never arrive on time, so skipping was easier and lessen his anxiety than having to enter class late.

Approaching his locker, he dialled in his combination and opened the metal container that held his textbooks. Seeing what he would need for the day, he pulled out the required material and opened his backpack to simply placed them on top of an unhidden, incriminating red and blue suit.

In his early web-slinging days, he had designed his backpack to had a hidden pocket in the main compartment so he could hide his costume and a spare set of civvies. Now, he could be bothered to even fold his suit and place it in its correct spot, leaving it open for the world to see.

Closing the locker, he turned in pursuit to his chosen location. Entering the silent building, he made a beeline to the farthest and most secluded table he could find. Sitting down, he pulled out some forgotten homework that was either due or long past due and got to work.

It wasn't long before he heard the bell, well the bell for homeroom. He had ignored the first two, having decided to skip First. He didn't know why, but he could bring himself to get up and move. Recollecting the papers and books scattered about the table, he forced himself to leave the quiet of the library. Locking his gaze to the ground, he went into autopilot and began to walk to his next class. Ever since the incident, he hadn't looked anyone in the eyes, at least not voluntarily. Peter just couldn't bring himself to raise his head. To make things worst, in the non-existence rush this morning, he had forgotten to bring his headphones. All around him, he could hear their whispers.

"Hey look it's _that_ kid.”

"Wasn't he that nerdy kid with the camera? What happen to him?”

"Did you see his wrists? God, what a freak!”

All he could hear was the sound of their pity and disgust. No matter how hard he tried, he could never block their comments out. In a way, he felt like he needed to force himself to listen. It's not like they are lying. It's true, he is a freak. Some stupid kid with scars on his wrist. What kind of sane person does that? Shaking off the question, he hung his head and walked.

Entering his class, he fell back into his new found pattern.

Normally he would have talked to random kids till the teacher told them to be quiet, but now he sat in silence, watching them with envy. When was the last time he truly felt happy? Why could those kids just smile and talk? Why couldn't he have someone? Anyone one? Then he remembered. When people get close to him, they die. It was this simple fact that made him grow numb to his environment, it's what causes him to block everyone out. He couldn't remember if anything had happened in his classes. He was on autopilot. 

Enter class, sit down, ignore everything, leave class, repeat. The only thing keeping him grounded was when he remembered his thoughts from this morning on the roof.

'Would it be better if I just disappeared?' Peter thought. 'Should I do it in costume to let everyone know that Spiderman had failed? That he, abandoned them? At least, then they'll know I'm not a hero but instead a murder. Or maybe I just need to die as Peter Parker and let the world wonder where their hero went? Let them keep their hope.’

These thoughts had come and go all day. It wasn't in till 8th period did he begin to focus, but, not for the reason he wanted. Despite this being his favourite subject, science, he was more focused on getting out of there as fast as possible. The reason being you may ask? Two words, Flash Thomson.

Sliding his bag onto his shoulder, he gripped his phone, periodically checking the time. 2:24. One minute. He would wait one minute. The class didn't get out till three, but the seniors got out five minutes early and he wasn't one to give up on a free head start with an easy escape route. Hearing the announcement releasing the twelfth graders, Peter shot up from his seat and raced down the hall.

He could hear the yells of the teacher calling him back, but he didn't care. He rather receive I.S.S than have a 'talk' with Flash. Running as fast as he could, he slammed against the front doors and ran outside. But, before he could even get a foot from the door, he had tripped on what he soon discovered to be a foot belonging to one of Flash's follower. He felt himself get picked up by the collar and get dragged through the crowd. The students around him were too busy trying to get home to notice and within five minutes the school was close to abandoned.

" _Well_ , what do we have here?" Peter watched as Flash began to approach him. Circling him as a predator does to mess with its prey, he hears him speak again in his condescending, superior voice. "Because, to me, it looks like we caught ourself an emo fag.”

With that, Flash proceeded to grab Peter's left arm and pulled up his sleeve to reveal his newest cuts. Without warning, Flash dug his nails into the self-inflicted wound. Wincing in pain, he could feel the blood trickle down his arm. Slow at first before Flash dug deeper. As blood flowed out his arm faster, he groaned in pain, collapsing to his knees, no longer able to support his own weight.

"Pathetic." Flash spat out, "This little emo fag can't even take a little pain." Peter squeezed his eyes shut as Flash's gripped tightened. "Come on Parker, you got to have somethin' to say.”

Upset with the lack of response, Flash lifted him from the ground by his wrist and slammed him to the wall. He could feel the bully's finger leave his body as he fell to the ground. Lying slightly limp, he had no time to recover before Flash kicked his in the stomach. After a kick or two, the jock pulled him from the wall and began to aim for his chest while his buddies help. Pain exploded from his torso as he endured this onslaught.

He could hear his ribs crack every so often. Tears well in his eyes as he gasped and pleaded for the to stop. Before long, the kicking stopped, but only so the two lackeys could pull him into a slumped standing position. Feeling someone grab his hair violently, his head was brought up forcing him to face Flash.

"Look at me you piece of shit." Opening his eyes, he unwillingly looked Flash in the eyes before receiving a powerful punch to the face. Falling to the ground, he was met with another kick to the ribs. Screaming in pain, he heard Flash laugh.

Peter began to think of ways to escape before haveing some darker thoughts set in. 'What good would escaping do? This will happen tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that. Maybe I should just lie here...' With that Peter considered, did he really want to give Flash the satisfaction of killing him? At this pace, that would be the outcome of all this. It _would_ be easier. If Flash killed him, he couldn't chicken out since he's not the one pulling the trigger.

Feeling another kick to his ribs, he decided that he'll save death for another day. In his attempt to escape, he grabbed Flash's leg and pull. The bully losing his balance, Flash landed hard and screams. With his friends distracted, Peter grabs his bag and fled as fast as he could.

It didn't take the others long to snap out of their stupor and began to chase him as if it were a game. He could hear the sound of Flash's footsteps growing closer. Hoping to lose them, he cut through a random alley was and made it onto one of the many sidewalks in New York.

Once on the other side, he faced a new problem. There was just too many people in his way. On one hand, it helps him hide from Flash, but not if he couldn't get any distance he wanted between them. Running as fast as he could, he made his way deeper into the city. He could still see Flash in the crowd, slowly closing the gap between them.

Before he knew it, Flash had grabbed the back of his shirt and swung him into the wall next to him. Luckily, if it could be called that, Flash didn't realise that said wall had been made of glass.

Crashing into the random building, he could feel the glass shatter and embed itself into his skin as he hit the ground. Vision blurred, he looked up just enough to see Flash's shocked expression as he hightailed it out of here, where ever that may be.

 

* * *

**End of Chapter Two**

* * *

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Still learning how to upload and post on AO3 and my computer crashed while I was doing this, so... sorry for any and all errors. If you find any, let me know and I'll try to fix them as soon as possible. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed the newest chapter. I plan to update every Sunday. Earliest, on Saturday, latest on Monday.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the story so far! And I will see you, in the next chapter!


	3. Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello Tony, we've been waiting for you. Hey, does anyone know if Peter is okay? 
> 
> Warning: Mentions of bullying and self-harm, and in general... Angst.

* * *

**Discovery**

* * *

 

Tony never bothered to check the time while in his lab. There was no reason to. Sure, he's missed one too many meetings, but if it was important, then Jarvis or Pepper would have gotten him. He currently was approaching his 8th hour straight after waking up And when I say waking up, I mean he took a 90-minute nap on the couch he kept up there with him after being awake for more than 24 hours trying to improve or create this and that.

Black Sabbath blared through his state-of-the-art surround sound while Tony was arms deep in his creation of his newest version of his Iron Man suit. He was currently trying to fix one of the circuits that connected to the C60 Arc Generator, which had kept failing, causing the energy blaster in his left arm to fail. It wasn't until his music suddenly stop did Tony looked up. Before the billionaire could ask what happened, he soon heard Jarvis' voice fill the room.

"Sir, it appears as if there has been a fight on the ground floor. The assailant already has fled the scene. The victim of the event is currently injured and unconscious. Medbay as already been alerted and is sending down two paramedics."

"Okay, Jarvis. Hey, go ahead and send Bruce down as well, I kind want to check out what happened."

“Already on it Sir.”

Wiping his hands on a rag, despite not having anything on them, Tony left his lab, after who knows how long, in pursuit of said injured person. This peaked his interest in the fact that normal nothing in a violent sense ever happens here except unless it had been directed at one of the Avenger. So to say he was curious at the unlucky person would be an understatement.

Arriving on the ground floor, he pushed through the crowd of people, who have all grouped around the person intent on filling their own morbid curiosity. Shooing them away, his eyes fell onto the person lying limp on the floor. "Jarvis! You could’ve mention the victim, as you put it, was a kid!”

“I apologise Sir. That information did not seem pertinent at the moment.”

With that response, Tony made a mental note to edit Jarvis programming before turning his attention to the kid before him. Crouching down, he instinctively checked the younger's pulse. He knew the kid was alive, but he wanted to make sure. 

Waiting for Bruce and the paramedics arrived, Tony looked up to see the shattered glass. "Hey Jarvis," He began to ask, with a cautious tone to his voice, "what happened to the door?"

“The person before you had been thrown through the glass by his attacker.” He heard Jarvis reply as if it was the most normal thing to have happened. Upon hearing said reply, Tony just stop for a moment. Not sure what to do, he echoed the information back at Jarvis. “You're telling me this kid got thrown through the door?”

"Yes, Sir.” Astonished that someone could shatter his bullet-proof glass, he began to probe for more information but was stopped when he saw Bruce exit the elevator with his medical bag. Sounding a little skittish and uncomfortable he called over to the newest arrival. “Hey, Brucie, little help over here.”

Moving around Tony to get to the kid, Bruce’s medical training kicked in and he started by taking the kid’s backpack off. Taking a quick look at the kid he began to assess the visible injuries before turning to Tony. “Tony,” He started, not hiding the concern in his voice. “What happened here?”

“I don’t know!" He started, his tone changing from before into something with more panic. "I was just up in my lab when Jarvis up and tells me that this kid just got thrown through the door.” Tony pointing at the shattered door right next to them as if Bruce didn't already know the location of said door. Seeing the confusion on the scientist's face he adds much more calmly, “Ya, I know, that doesn’t make since. I’m just going to watch what the security cameras captured once I know this kid is fine.”

Both of them now refocused on the kid before them, Bruce gently presses on Peter's chest. “Tony, we’re going to have to move this kid up to the medical wing. From the look of it, he seems to have 3 maybe 4 broken ribs and a couple are bruised.”

As if on cue, the two paramedics Jarvis had called for arrived with a stretcher in hand. Checking to make sure the kid was in a stable condition, they lifted the unnamed kid onto the carrier device and brought his up to the 5th floor. Bruce, having taken special interest, took control of the situation and told the professionals that if he needs assistance he would call for someone qualified.

Beginning to treat his injuries, Bruce slid the kid's shirt off. He froze. His eyes scanned over the pale torso. A kid he would have pegged for 14 or 15, 16 at max, had scars peppering his body, the most noticeable being three thick scars going from his left shoulder to his right side. Trying to ignore the past wounds, he began to focus on the more prevalent ones. 

After about an hour, Bruce had finished removing shards of glass and setting and wrapping his 4 broken ribs and his 6 bruised ones. But it wasn't the newest injury that made him feel sick, sure he couldn't stand the idea of anyone hurting someone so young, but something else caught his eye.

The kid's wrist had been covered his what was obviously self-inflicted cuts, and if it wasn't for the giant purple bruise on his sides, Bruce was positive he would see cuts there as well. Some looked old and faded while others looked new and fresh. Looking at his left wrist, he could tell those were the newest and were a target when he got attacked do to the fingernail markings on the reopened, ripped skin which was left bleeding. Taking a deep breath, he began to dress the wounds, all the while wondering what would make a kid this young think of self-harm.

Once he was sure everything was dealt with and the kid would be okay, he left the kid to rest. Deciding to head up to Tony’s lab, he told Jarvis' to call him when the kid woke and went to the elevator. Just as he entered the lad, Tony whipped around and immediately asked, “Hows the kid?” 

Bruce shrugged uncomfortably, “He’s got 4 broken ribs, 6 bruised ones, major bruising on his stomach, back and sides and...” He hesitated. He himself needed a second to prepare himself to hear the next part. The hesitation seemed to cause Tony to grow more anxious than he already was. “He also has a multitude of self-inflicted cuts on his wrists and waist.” 

Upon hearing that last part, Tony shifted from foot to foot. Suddenly, with a stronger urge to find out who this kid was, he ignored Bruce’s earlier protest of respecting the kid's privacy and sat down in front of his holographic computers. Opening up the New York’s citizen’s database, he began to cross reference the kid's features, height and estimated age to see if they could get a hit. Bruce protested again as he watched the monitor from behind Tony as he began to weed out candidates. After about five minutes, they had only one person left. Peter Parker.

* * *

**End of Chapter Three**

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEW CHAPTER! NOT LATE! I PROMISE! Totally didn't write in under an hour with no beta or preview read... Okay /maybe/ I did rush. Guess y'all get to go down into the comments to call me out on my terrible grammar mistakes.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the story so far! And I will see you, in the next chapter!


	4. First Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of Fluff, a bit of Batter, and a lot of Sleep deprivation while writing this.

* * *

**First Encounter**

* * *

 

As Peter began to regain consciousness, he immediately felt head started to hurt behind my eyes, a low hum of light pain. It wasn't a killer ache, it just was enough to cloud his thoughts like a swampy river. His head felt heavy and all he wanted was the pounding to stop. The pain throbbed and pulsed in his skull, not a sharp pain like a knife-inflicted wound like he normally got from his ever growing stress, but more like a dull pounding with a hammer. Over... and over... and over again. 

After getting tired of the constant heartbeat he felt in his skull, Peter's fuzzy mind watched the last remnants of his dream get chased away by the realisation he was awake. With a mental sign, Peter allows his brain to focus and cautiously opened his eyes.

Blinded by the light streaming from the window, he quickly closed them, taking him a harsh breath. The light intensified his headache but had also helped him wake up a bit more. Eyes still closed, Peter pushed himself into a sitting position, leaning against the backboard of the bed. Without thinking, he reached over to the side table with intent to grab his glasses only to have  his arm hit open air. Revelling brown eyes to the world, he was met with blurring and hazy vision from lack of use. Blinking a few times, the student found himself to be in what looked like a private hospital room. 

It was then, did he remember the events from earlier. The hour on the roof. The copy and paste school day. And the encounter with Flash. It all hit him at once. Subconsciously rubbing his left wrist, he suddenly realised he had no clue where he was, what time it was, and most importantly, where his backpack was. Peter couldn't help but remember that his had carelessly left his... costume... loose and visible in his bag instead of in its secret pocket. Beginning to panic, he decided to try and get out of the bed in pursuit of said bag. 

Swinging his legs out of the bed, he heard the sound of the door slide open before he got a chance to stand. Turning his attention over to the sound, he found himself speechless. Standing in the doorway, was not, as he expected, a nurse or doctor, but, to his great surprise, his lifelong idol, Tony Stark.

"Hey, Kiddo, how ya feeling?" His voice sounded calm and relaxed matching his posture, simply leaning on the wall. Peter brain currently being clouded with his internal fangirling, he just blinked and stupidly replied, "You- You're....You're Tony Stark." 

His words came out slow and stagger. It almost sounded like a question, which in a way it was. To Peter, the last person he ever thought he would meet was Tony, Fucking, Stark. Sure, once upon a time he figured he would meet him, but as Spiderman, especially after the whole alien invasion, considering he had helped them out, but, alas, he never did. Refocusing on the present situation, Peter heard the superhero before him reply, “Oh my God! I am Tony Stark. Hadn’t really notice, being an eccentric genius, billionaire, playboy and philanthropist. Thanks for pointing that out kid. Anyway, you got a name?"

Tony's voice wasn't sarcastic as one would expect based on what he said, but more playful and genuine, with a hint of teasing and a lot of gloating with the whole 'being an eccentric genius, billionaire, playboy and philanthropist.' Too shell-shocked, Peter unconsciously fell back onto his Spider-Man persona.

" _Well_ , considering who you are, oh mighty Iron Man, shouldn't you already know? Or are you not all your cracked up to be, Mr billionaire playboy philanthropist. ” His tone was very light hearted and jokey. Peter hesitated as he began to have a silent internal battle trying to remember when he last sounded like that. Unaware of Peter’s struggle, Tony, amused by the response, made his confession.

“You forgot eccentric genius, but, I like you kid, and yeah, your right, I _did_ do a little research on you. So yes, I know your name, I just want to see if you know your name." Peter expression changed from the rare cheery one he donned back to his normal blank stare. Tony didn't know what he said to cause such an expression but stay quite waiting for the kid's reply. 

Peter's thoughts, now glued to the memory of Gwen, tried to refocus as he stuttered out "P-Peter. Peter Parker.”

Satisfied with the given response, Tony nodded then decided to turn the subject to something that would remove Peter's hurt expression. " _So_ , Peter, got someone you need to call? You've been out cold for a couple of hours. It’s currently 8:57 pm, so that would be 6 hours to be specific.” 

Once said, Tony realised he had, yet again, hit another nerve. "No," Peter said in a quiet voice, a hint of sadness lacing his words. "No one I need to call." Tony watched as Peter hesitated. Then he heard him continue in a soft, spite whisper, "The Orphanage doesn't care if I come back or not." 

"Well then, I guess you're free to join us for dinner," Tony said in a happy voice, hoping to turn the mood. 

"Us?" Peter questioned.

"Oh yeah. Bruce and Cap are upstairs on the Avenger floor. Black Widow and Hawkeye won't be back for another week and Thor is in Asgard, but three out of six is still pretty good, considering." 

"Uh, sure b-" 

"Great, let's go!" Tony grinned, as he interrupted Peter.

Trying again, Peter asked, ”Umm, can I get a shirt maybe? Also, where's my backpack?" He tried to say that second part as calmly and as normal as possible, trying not to raise an alarm that something out of the ordinary hid inside. Unfortunately, Peter realised too much of his anxiety slipped through. Second guessing himself, he added an excuse to make it seem like more of a normal question. “I-I’m pretty sure my glasses are in there and I-I kinda need them… to see... and stuff.”

With a few burst of nervous laughter though into that last sentence, Peter felt that any anxiety that had slipped through would now be written off as awkward embarrassment. Waiting on Tony response, he hoped that he hadn't been too obvious. 

Tony didn't seem to have picked up on his anxiety or tone, or at least didn't acknowledge, and simply replied, "Bruce made sure to grabbed your bag so no one would go through it, _well_ , so I wouldn't go through it. But can you blame me for being curious? A kid gets thrown through my bullet proof glass door and you expect me _not_ to be curious about what's in his bag? As for a shirt, I'm sure I can find something." 

Watching him leave the room, Peter glanced down to see the bandages wrapped around his wrists. He hadn't noticed it earlier when he rubbed his wrist. He guessed that he'd just gotten used to some sort of bandage being there. Running a finger over the gauze, he remembered the much dark events of the past night. Wanting to turn his thoughts away from that, he pondered over his current situation. At this point, he didn't need to ask where he was. He was at Avengers Tower, and he was about to have dinner with one of his biggest idols.

Peter didn't hear the door opened, having been lost in thought, but, when he felt his spidey sense go off, he didn't even need to look up as he caught the shirt flying his way.

“Nice reflexes." Tony complimented. 

Giving a quick 'thanks', he quickly slipped on the Black Sabbath band-tee, which was a hung on his slender frame, ended below his hips, and got off the bed in order to follow Tony to the elevator. 

Stepping into the metal box, he watched the doors close. "Jarvis, take us up to the Avenger's floor."

Peter didn't even have to ask who Tony was talking to. He had already read everything involving the inventors work to know who Jarvis was. It also helps that he had hacked into Tony's system one too many times. Hearing the British AI give Tony a prompt 'Yes, Sir,' Peter felt the elevator raise and began to mentally prepare himself for whatever awaited.

* * *

**End of Chapter Four**

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really tired. Hopefully, whatever I wrote makes sense. If not, feel free to spam me in the comment section below. Or just comment for no reason, either way, it'll give me motivation to fix my mistakes and write more. Anyway,
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the story so far! And I will see you, in the next chapter


	5. Awkwardness Ensues

* * *

**Awkwardness Ensues**

* * *

 

 

Peter had no idea what to expect. He was moments away from stepping out of the currently ascending elevator and having dinner with, not only one of his life-long idols but three of the six superheroes that single-handedly saved the earth. 

 

Awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he casually wrapped his arms around himself. Not in a defensive or crossed manner, but more as a hug. The teenager felt overly self-conscious and his anxiety did nothing to help. To Peter, he was going into this situation blind. He had no idea on what was going to happen. He didn't know anything, and that scared him. For all he knew, Tony had lied about the location of his backpack and was leading him into a room full of Shield agents. 

 

It didn't take much effort to learn that his's alter persona's disappearance did not go unnoticed by the public that its identity was still being sought out by select organizations.

 

Single handily making his anxiety worse, he began to run different scenarios through his head. The current 'best case' was that this was simply him joining them for dinner before going on his way and no one knowing anything about anyone. But, to his displeasure, his mind kept going back to his 'worse cases', which, at this point, consisted of Shield, and imprisonment. After all, he still had an arrest warrant on his head. 

 

Eventually, the metal box that was the elevator, stopped and released him from its confines. Glad to be freed from the awkward atmosphere he had created, he took a second to examine the room he had just entered.

 

Said room, that Tony and himself had stepped into, was very spacious. The elevator had been positioned in the middle of the wall, opposite to another which was made completely out of glass. To his left was a couch centered to the left wall with various chairs to either side, turn to face a flat screen TV. To the left of the TV, there was a hallway cutting the left wall short, bleeding into another area. To his right, he could see a bar, which connected to the wall but curved into an entrance near the windowed side of the room. Behind the bar held a fairy sized kitchen. Stepping into the room, he would have expected something less... homely.

 

Following Tony, Peter froze on the spot and began to internally fangirl. 

 

“Bruce, Capsicle, this is Peter.” Tony began, indicating to each person as he said their name. “Peter, meet Captain America, or Steve, that being his name and Bru-“ 

 

Tony was soon interrupted by Peter who quickly and excitedly said, “You’re Bruce Banner! I’ve read all your work on biochemist, nuclear physics, and gamma radiation.”

 

Tony, beaming with joy, turns to Bruce before he could reply to Peter’s outburst. “See Bruce, I told you, he’s totally perfect! He likes science and knows who you are!”

 

“Tony, you don’t have to sell me on the kid. Never did I say I didn’t want him hanging around.” Bruce stated, turning his attention back to Peter. “Though I am surprised you’ve read my research.” 

 

“Tony, you don’t have to sell me on the kid. Never did I say I didn’t want him hanging around.” Bruce stated, turning his attention back to Peter. “Though I am surprised you’ve read my research.” 

 

Becoming slightly more comfortable with the situation he found himself in, he eventually moved towards one of the bar stools, only to have Bruce hand him his backpack. Trying not to be obvious, he opened the zipper to check on its contents. “Kid, don’t worry, No one went through your stuff. But, if you're that anxious to check, I might get curious on what's in there.” 

 

Hearing Tony’s comment of the bag, he quickly pulled his excuse from earlier and pulled out his glasses case. “Oh, nothing too interesting, just homework and stuff. I... I actually was getting my glasses.”

 

Removing the frames from their confines, he put on his old glasses and heard Tony comment one more. "I forgot, you mentioned you wore glasses. Near-sided, I'm guessing."

 

With a small nod, they three turned back to the original conversation and found himself engrossed in conversation. As Tony, Bruce and himself went back and forth between different scientific theories, Captain America, or Steve, was quickly found on the other side of the bar, making a pot of pasta, blocking out the conversation completely, considering that it was going over his head entirely. It was about a half hour later until Steve brought four plates over to a hidden table in the kitchen, forcing the group to relocate.

 

Sitting down, Peter found himself sitting on the end, next to Tony and across from Steve, Bruce sliding into the seat on Tony's right.

 

Staring at the meal before himself, Peter felt his mouth being to salivate. He couldn't remember the last time he had a home cooked meal. On his plate held pasta covered in a homemade puttanesca sauce, a piece of garlic bread and, in a separate bowl, a small side salad with a vinaigrette dressing. Trying not to scarf his meal down in one breath and enjoy it, Peter dug into the food presented as they continued their conversation.

 

It wasn't until Steve changed the topic did Peter remember why he was there in the first place. He had such a good time he had almost forgotten everything that had happened in the past month and even before then. Feeling the mood in the room drop, he heard Steve ask his question.

 

"Not trying to ruin the mood," _Too late..._ "but Peter, if you don’t mind me asking, what happened?” 

 

He didn’t need to elaborate. Peter knew exactly what he was referring to and what he meant. The only problem was, Peter didn't know how _far_ that question reached. For all he knew, they knew as little to he got attack by Flash, to the fact that he was some suicidal teenager who, oh yeah, just happen to be Spiderman. Figuring to go with the former of them knowing nothing, he took a deep breath.

 

“Well,  _Apparently_ , I’m everyone’s favourite punching bag,” It came out differently and more sarcastic than he expected.  But, by being sarcastic, he could protect himself. It was easier. If he was serious, then it makes what happened real. If he makes it a joke, it hurts less. Joking made it feel less real, like it didn’t happen. That it doesn't hurt. By being sarcastic, it makes recalling the events less painful, even though he could feel tears behind his eyes. “After school, Flash and his friends decided to have a little fun. I managed to escape, only to have them chase me all the way here. It’s nothing new, they do it all the time.”

 

Peter looked up to see the pain and sympathy in their eyes. Peter knew as well as they did that he shouldn’t be okay with this. But they don’t understand that he deserves this. After everything, he’s done. After everyone he’s _killed_ , he deserves this kind of punishment. 

 

Peter didn't know why he had been so honest, even if it wasn't the full truth. He could have easily avoided this conversation with a more evasive answer. But, he was pulled from thought when Steve asks, to Peter, one of the most stereotypical adult question.

 

“Have you talked to anyone about this? A parent or guardian? Being bullied isn’t something you should just put up with son. Especially to this extent.” 

 

If there wasn’t a table between them, Peter felt as though Steve would have placed a hand on his shoulder. Taking a bite of pasta, he thought of a reply that would be accepted. But there wasn’t one. He so wished he could just say 'The school doesn’t care, and to the Orphanage, it would be easier for them if I died. So no, I haven’t talked to anyone about this.' But he realised that this would make matters worse. Deciding to lie, he faked a small smile and said, "Yeah, I talked to my aunt about it. The school knows, but it's hard for them to do anything off property."

 

Well, he wasn't completely lying. The school was well aware of the bullying going on. It just didn't care. His reply seeming to send the table into silence. Tony, surprisingly enough, took control of the conversation and brought it back to something more cheery. 

 

Soon they had finished their dinner, and quickly migrated to the couch, as they attempted to finish their debate on the Matrix, or more specifically, the science behind it and the theory on whether or not the 'real world' was just another layer of the program and if Neo was truly the one and not Agent Smith, the presumed 'bad guy'. 

 

Putting the argument to an end, Tony decided on a Matrix marathon, which both Bruce and Peter agree to. Steve, deciding to retire to his room or floor, left the science bros to nerd out. 

 

It wasn't until the end of the third movie, where Neo fights the thousands or Agent Smiths, did Peter finally fall asleep, head buried in Tony's lap. Once the two adults were positive that the youngest had fallen asleep, Tony paused the movie and turned to Bruce. "I'm concerned for him."

 

His voice was soft. Tony petted Peter's hair while looking down at him. "I know he's not telling us everything." Getting a look of confusion from Bruce, he continued, "He contradicted himself. He didn't think I heard, but he said 'the Orphanage didn't care' when I first talked to him. Why would he said he talks to his aunt at dinner if he said that earlier. I think he's hiding something.

 

"Tony, I think you might be over-thinking things, but I do think your right to be concerned. After all, you saw his wrist. We have to help. This kid…” Bruce paused. When he became the Hulk, Bruce had tried to end his life. Even if not in the same context, he could connect to the kid.

 

“I know,” Tony said in a calm and gentle voice. Careful to not wake Peter, Tony leant over and placed a kiss on Bruce’s nose.

 

* * *

**End of Chapter Five**

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So, this is my first time posting on AO3. Hopeful I don't royally screw this up... Anyway, hope you enjoyed. Comments are welcome, they give me life. I need all the help I can get, and the more you guys spam me, the faster I'll write! Hopefully...
> 
> Lost Cause is also posted on Fanfiction.net under the name same and author. I'm hoping that posting it here will give me more motivation to keep the story updated.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the story so far! And I will see you, in the next chapter!


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